


Unchanged

by aisle_one



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aisle_one/pseuds/aisle_one
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What sex (love) is and isn't, after the fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unchanged

They fuck in a parallel universe where Charles still has use of his legs, the sensations both novel and familiar below his waist, as Erik toys with him, with his tongue, his fingers. 

You could just - Erik will start, wagging his finger against his temple, smile strained. No. Charles doesn't want it like that, second-hand and borrowed. Besides, that ( _let me, he'd whisper, their hands linked, his lips pressed to Erik's, suppressing, just barely, a light, lilting laugh_ ) - that belongs to yesterday (many yesterdays ago.) He doesn't bother with coy or tact, gathering himself, elbows clipped to his sides, folding up like origami; yeah, it's complicated. 

He rolls away, nipples tingling and bereft from the loss of Erik's mouth, but too long, too labored into foreplay and he'll lose it. Again, because falling (and failing) is easy. Stop, he puts out a hand when Erik follows with his, palm open and beseeching. Come back, written in his eyes. He'll say it, if Charles asks, commands, whatever. Do this. Touch me here. Put your mouth - he's so obedient. Now.

Charles could fuck him instead. Drill his ass with a cock erect for hours. His mind can perform the dirtiest tricks, and hardly any effort would it cost him. But the thought of it, Erik mobile and wanton and flexing over Charles - the inside of his mouth goes sour. As if it'd be a consolation, the live tease of what he could never have again, or give, or be. He's not so generous, these days.

An alternate reality restores equilibrium. Here, they kiss wet and sloppy, and Erik plays at the hollow behind his knee, nudging at the soft flesh there. They shiver simultaneously and groan. It's _good_ , but lacking. A faint impression compared to what it once was, the blunt press of Erik's fingertip sending a shock down his spine, causing him to shake apart from the simplest touch. Anywhere, anywhere, he offered, a buffet of naked flesh and nerves tingling beneath, to the tips of his toes, sensitive for Erik, responsive and pliant and _his_. It's a dull pleasure in this place Charles brings them to, in the bodies they occupy, but fair's fair. 

Normally, he conjures a bed, but today he has a craving for the exotic. Metal bars and cold concrete under his arse. Come - he urges Erik to follow him, ignoring his full body flinch when he catches sight of the cell, but Erik recovers quickly. No delicate flowers permitted here.

Erik doesn't need to be directed. When Charles is naked, splayed like a practiced whore on the ground, arms over his head, Erik blinks a long stretch and the metal bars come alive, elongating and twisting elaborately to snake down Charles's wrists. Too loose at first, but Charles insists with a sharp look at Erik: tighter, bruising (bloody.) Erik hesitates, guilt flooding his eyes, and in that moment a familiar ache blossoms and spikes in Charles's chest, and his carefully constructed illusion nearly crumbles. He grits his teeth, sets his jaw, stubborn. He can be just as stubborn (even if Erik is less so.) His hands clench into fists: it's this or nothing. Hurt me (again) or don't. The metal winds tight, squeezing over tender arteries, binding with a relentless purpose until Charles's fingers fly open and apart, surrendering, and Erik is...he hides his face in Charles's neck, arms winding around Charles as Charles's legs - gloriously mobile - stretch over his back, linking at the ankles, Erik's torso warm and heavy flush between his thighs.

No prep. Just a quick pop, like the sudden squeeze of air bursting through an opened champagne bottle, and the head of Erik's cock catches at his entrance, snagged in the ring of muscles resisting more. It hurts. Burns. Charles softens abruptly, swallows a scream. Yeah - he grits his teeth, digs his heels into Erik's back. Keep going.

He doesn't get hard, not even when Erik fucks into that spot that causes him to arch, his mouth falling open from sense memory, even as Erik milks the reaction from him again and again and again. The disconnect hollows him out, bifurcates his mind from his flesh, and it tears at the bitterness, the anger, the rage, leaves behind only the impossibility. They can never go back, can never return, not even in their dreams. Tears collect in his eyes. He closes them, turns away. A kiss lands on his cheek, his chin, the underside of his jaw. More pepper his throat, from closed-mouth and chaste to open and messy, hungry and wet, a nip high on his neck behind his ear, sensitive as before where he remains unchanged. The curl of Erik's tongue lights him up, coils into desire low in his belly, and maybe like this -

There's compromise, too, when Charles chooses to capitulate, or when Erik takes it from him. He bows his head, lowers his mouth, and forces Charles to still beneath him. He suckles on Charles's chest like he's a woman, nursing his nipples between his lips to an aching hardness that begs for reprieve, the rough swipe of Erik's tongue, his circling thumbs, this symphony he's perfected, working acceptance and submission from Charles's body. His mind. Lose yourself to it - and he does, coming awake to the firm mattress under his back, the sheets clutched in his hands, his head tossing back and forth.

The release is slow, quiet. He doesn't jerk from intensity, but arches languidly, fluid as an ocean wave relaxed in the ebb and flow of low tide. It's not the same. It's disappointing. But - it's theirs, and as Erik sidles up behind him, warm and certain, Charles is reminded that not everything has changed (as Erik inspects his wrists for phantom bruises, kisses the inside of each - no, not everything has changed.)


End file.
